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I grinned. “Who are they?”
“Business associates,” he said as he perused my naked body.
“Maybe it’s true.”
“You just said it was.”
We washed each other tenderly, the warmth of the water soothing our bodies. Wrapped in towels, we emerged from the bathroom, relieved to find Sadie absent from the living room or kitchen. I knew that once she got over Dan, I'd seize every opportunity to spend time at Oliver’s. Keeping quiet during sex was a challenge; I was naturally vocal, and suppressing my expressions of pleasure, especially with Oliver, felt stifling.
Chapter 11
As we sat in The Tea Garden, waiting for Oliver, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The atmosphere was elegant, the chatter of other diners intermingling with the soft clinking of cutlery against plates. But Oliver's absence weighed heavily on me, exacerbated by his tardiness.
"Where is he?" Matthew asked, voicing my own concern.
"He’ll be here. He had a bunch of conference calls today," I reassured, though my own worry betrayed my words.
"On a Saturday?"
I shot my brother a pointed look. "Are you kidding? You work Saturdays."
"Not all the time. I’ve been taking it easy this summer."
I scanned the room, sipping my coffee nervously, and breathed a sigh of relief when Oliver finally entered. But any sense of relief evaporated when I noticed the slight disarray of his hair and the smear of blood on his cheek. Concern tightened my chest.
"There he is," I announced, trying to mask my apprehension.
I introduced Oliver to Matthew, who greeted him with a handshake before taking his leave to head to the buffet tables. As Oliver started to rise, I caught his arm, determined to address the unsettling sight.
“Not now, Ryleigh,” he hissed, his discomfort palpable.
Ignoring his protest, I reached for my cloth napkin and dipped it into my water glass, dabbing at the blood on his cheek. The attention drew stares from nearby diners, but I paid them no mind. Oliver brushed my hand away and excused himself from the table, leaving me with a knot of worry in my stomach.
Throughout brunch, Oliver's demeanor remained strained, his appetite all but nonexistent. Despite his efforts to engage Matthew in conversation, I could sense the underlying tension. I knew the importance of making a good impression on my brother, especially considering he would likely be the one to relay details of Oliver to our family.
Despite the lavish spread before us, I found it difficult to eat, my own anxiety mirroring Oliver's. His repeated orders for scotch only added to my unease, his usual restraint abandoned in favor of seeking solace in alcohol.
Once brunch was over, Oliver settled the bill and bid farewell to Matthew, offering to give him a ride, which Matthew declined. Alone in the car with Vlad at the wheel, I turned to Oliver, my concern mounting.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Nothing you should worry about,” he growled, his tone clipped.
“Vlad, please drop me off at my apartment,” I interjected, my patience wearing thin.
“You’re going home?” Oliver questioned.
“You don’t want to talk, so why should I go to your place?” I retorted, my frustration mounting.
“It doesn’t concern you,” Oliver insisted, his jaw clenched.
“It happened to you, so of course it does. Now are you going to tell me or should I spend the evening with Sadie?” I asked, unwilling to back down.
Oliver sighed heavily, his reluctance evident. “When we get home.”
He leaned in, his breath laced with the scent of scotch, and pressed a kiss to my lips, lingering for a moment before pulling away. As he looked into my eyes, I saw the worry etched in his gaze, sending a wave of apprehension through me. What had transpired before he arrived at the restaurant? The unanswered question lingered heavily between us.
Once we were inside Oliver’s penthouse, I pressed him for details about the morning's events.
